


Glass Barrier

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Prompt Fic, References to Canon, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 14:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15487557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Holmes sees a problem and offers a solution. Written for JWP #29 over on Watson's Woes.





	Glass Barrier

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Nowhere near as fluffy as this prompt probably intended. References to MISS. And absolutely no beta. This was written in a huge rush. You have been warned.  
> Author's Notes: Written for the following prompt: I Swear To Drunk I'm Not God. Get someone plastered in today's work.

I do not know how long I sat in our Cambridgeshire hotel-room, lost in thought. A full whiskey-glass appeared in front of my eyes, startling me out of my daze. I looked up to see Holmes’ face looking down at me with a mix of sympathy and determination.  
  
“I know you generally do not drink to excess, John, and at least some of the reasons why have to do with your brother.”   
  
He set the glass down next to my hand.   
  
“I also know that _you are not him_. I can see that this sad discovery of Staunton’s situation has reminded you forcibly of your own pain.”   
  
He wrapped my unresisting fingers around the glass. His hand was surprisingly warm compared to my own.  
  
“You’ve never spoken to me of it, of what happened, not really. I never intended to ask. But I can see you’re in pain.” He crouched down so he could look me directly in the eyes, his hand still holding mine around the crystal. “If it will help you, I am here to listen.”  
  
Every word was like a shock, a thundering assault against barriers I’d put up against memory, against thoughts, against loss. I did not _want_ to remember, to speak of these things. But it was too late _not_ to remember, as Holmes had somehow seen. All that was left was to survive the memories as best I could.  
  
Shaking, I raised the glass to my lips. The liquor burned all the way down my throat, a faint, minor pain trickling against the tide.  
  
I do not remember how many glasses Holmes poured me before I finally found words to speak of Mary’s end. I do not even remember what I said.

I do remember Holmes’ wiry arms holding me tightly as I wept.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 29, 2018.


End file.
